


We Are the One

by dharma22



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Graphic Description
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-12 13:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20565281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dharma22/pseuds/dharma22
Summary: Three women of vastly different backgrounds find themselves the only ones capable of repelling the Darkspawn force. New to the order and new to the outside world, they navigate their obstacles as well as love.





	1. The Rugged Three

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a whim and I pray I can stick with it. I just might be incredibly slow. I've started a new semester, one I'm going to be more dedicated to, and so this will hopefully be updated every week? But do forgive any errors and such, as well as formatting. I typed this up on a google document. Also please leave a comment if you liked and I might be more encouraged to keep this up. The plan is to have a fic for every game.   
It's worth mentioning that while I will be mostly within the realm of canon, a lot of things will diverge from canon.

Sebille

Sebille’s thoughts often wandered. On occasion, she had some semblance of control over where to they roamed. But in most instances, now especially, she possessed so little control that she wanted to just shut her eyes and see nothing. Hear nothing, feel nothing. She wanted to drift in something beyond silence, perhaps even ascend to a level of being that only the enlightened knew. Alas, her head was too full to even grasp the idea of such a state.

Thoughts of Tamlen, poor reliable Tamlen, lost to whatever magic was imbued in that mirror, filled her mind and she was helpless to stop them.  _ That blasted mirror,  _ she thought. Tamlen, ever foolish and so eager to impress anyone who would spare him the second, was set with the will of June’s knot to touch that mirror. Sebille, cautious and sensible Sebille, had given him firm warnings not to. Once, she’d even threatened to leave him to his silly whims if he continued with his foolishness. She had turned her back when her friend made the fateful mistake of touching that mirror. Recalling what exactly transpired after that was difficult, for obviously, she’d been knocked unconscious and awoke two days later with a terrible fever and aching body. All she knew was that a mysterious man, Duncan, had returned her to camp, Tamlen was gone, and she was sick. So sick that this man insisted that her only route of survival was to undergo a change to become a Grey Warden.

_ “That mirror was infested with the Taint,”  _ Duncan had said,  _ “You will die because of it. Unless you come with me and become a Grey Warden.” _

Grey Wardens were the stuff of legends, with their might, valor, and griffins. But no longer did the griffins grace the skies and the Grey Wardens of Fereldan had lost their might, as well as their numbers. Needless to say, Sebille, caught within her fevered delirium, was not pleased. At first, she’d thought Duncan had said “grey warn him” and was lost to confusion. But as the fever cleared (somewhat), she came to understand the weight of what he said. She was to devote her life to a cause she knew so little about, cared even littler for. 

_ Anything to survive, right? That’s what elves do. Survive. _

She sighed. It had been two weeks since then and Duncan was keeping her alive through a myriad of potions and elixirs, brewed up by another of the three Grey Wardens traveling with him. Her name was Eliot. She was a mage, one quite well versed in alchemy as well as healing magic. It was by her grace alone that Sebille could attribute her survival and for that, she was thankful. Thankful to Eliot and Duncan. 

Duncan...a truly mysterious man. As the Commander of the Grey Wardens present in Fereldan, one would expect a certain level of knowledge to be established about the man. The way Eliot spoke of him, he was certainly quite the heroic and honourable man. A deeper line of questioning later and Sebille discovered that none of his comrades knew much about him. 

Such a discovery was disappointing, to say the least. For some reason, Sebille found herself fascinated by the man, despite knowing so little about him. He was unlike anything she’d ever encountered in her brief twenty-two years. That lack of experience was most certainly the by-product of living as and amongst the Dalish her whole life. Men in her clan were small, lean, too concerned with tradition and the preservation of the old ways to embrace anything new or embrace her. Copulation was intrinsically and deeply wound up with tradition. Naturally, her and Tamlen had experimented here and there, but she wouldn’t dare say she was attracted to Tamlen in the ways that she was attracted to Duncan. While she cared for Tamlen, their sexual escapades were not borne of any true love and the desire to express that love. At least, not for Sebille. Tamlen simply...had the parts required to intrigue and satisfy her. Duncan, on the other hand, was a different story. His hair was dark and long, held back with a leather strap. Just as his hair was dark, his eyes were too and in them hid many things, things Sebille couldn’t place or make out. His shoulders were broad, his hands were strong. From his right earlobe dangled a single gold hoop and  _ that  _ did things to her. 

If she wasn’t so terribly afraid to even move with this taint coursing through her veins, she would’ve worked through this attraction with her fingers. Coaxed out something sweet and much needed. 

Her cheeks grew rosy as thoughts of orgasms and sex overcame her body. She was ashamed to admit that her thoughts had wandered so terribly far from her grief of Tamlen. 

Sebille was torn from her thoughts by a pair of willowy fingers snapping loudly before her eyes. The disturbance was annoying, though much needed.

“Hello? Are you alright?” 

Before her sat one of the two other recruits. Ana was her name. 

“I’m quite alright. Thank you.” Sebille said, clearing her throat. 

Ana seemed somewhat satisfied with this answer, her attention returning to her bowl of warm stew in her hands. Of the two other recruits, Ana was her favorite. A sweet, joyful girl, with eyes so pale, Sebille thought her blind when they first met. Behind those eyes was great sadness. She couldn’t blame her. Ana was the daughter of the Teryn of Highever and Sebille was present at the massacre of her family. She tried her hardest to help the girl keep her mind off of things, but that task was impossible. She knew all too well that thoughts lingered on the sadness. But Sebille was surprised at how Ana kept her smile. She attributed part of that to her youth but maybe such was her nature.

The other recruit was much less pleasant. A mage by the name of Synathra Amell, who preferred to go by ‘Syn’. From her understanding, all of which came from Ana, Syn came from a noble family out of Kirkwall. Though magic wasn’t overly potent in the family, Syn was born possessing the power and was sent to a circle much kinder than the one of Kirkwall fame. It wasn’t that the woman was a mage that made her unpleasant. It was her cold and distant nature. Syn had spoken little to either herself or Ana and when she did, their interactions were quick and Syn’s coldness seeped anything and everything resembling warmth from the conversation. The mage was too absorbed in the numerous texts she brought with her from the tower. Sebille was admittedly quick to dismiss her but Ana tried copious amounts of times to try and get to know Syn. All failed miserably. 

Speaking of Syn, she sat the farthest away from everyone gathered around the fire. So far, in fact, that Sebille doubted she retained any warmth on this cold night. But the fire was close enough to illuminate her milky hair.

Now that her attention was on the physical realm, Sebille was keenly aware of how close Duncan sat to her. Her thoughts danced back to the dirty.

“How much longer until we reach Ostegar?” Ana asked, her chin in her hand.

Duncan sat his empty bowl of stew down and cleared his throat.

“About a week,” he stated, “We’ll be traveling around the horde. It can be done, but we must be cautious about it.”

Ana nodded. 

The rest of the night was silent.

____

“Why didn’t you let me die?” 

Duncan sat silent for a time, presumably concocting an answer Sebille would deem satisfactory. The longer he sat silent, rocking back and forth with every step of his horse, the more convinced she was that he had not heard her.

“I said-”  
“The Grey Wardens are in desperate need of recruits.” he finally answered, “Besides, I happened upon you by chance. Without me, you would have been dead. You should be grateful.”

Sebille frowned. 

“I  _ am  _ grateful. I just wish I had some say in the matter.” she said.

Duncan’s chuckle is light, barely audible from up ahead of her, but she still heard it. Her frown deepened.

“A choice? You would have preferred to die?” he asks.

Before she could answer, he continued. 

“Ask Lady Synathra about choice, for she truly had none. Most recruits I take in are caught between a rock and a hard place. Such is the way of the world.”

And that was that. 

____

She was lost in thought again, though this time, she had some control of where her thoughts strayed. She was thinking back to the mirror and how, despite her gut feeling to avoid the thing, it called to her. There was vibration in the air that was pleasant upon the skin. In some deep recess of her mind, she almost recalled a song. It must have called to Tamlen stronger than it called to her or either she could simply resist it. But the mirror...what was it? Why did it have the taint? Why was Duncan there? 

Why did he save her life?

She thought back to her and Ducan’s conversation a few days ago. Decidedly, the answer was unsatisfactory, although it should have been. But Sebille could not accept that he saved her only to have a promising recruit. Which wasn’t to say she wasn’t promising, she could shoot a moving buck through the eye at almost forty-five yards. Deep down, did she want Duncan to want her? 

Once again, she was torn from her thoughts, this time by means much less startling as loud snapping in your face.

Quite simply, they had arrived at Ostegar, the decayed behemoth of a fortress. And for the Rugged Three, they had arrived at the beginning of their new lives.


	2. How It Brings Us Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is with great sorrow that I must report that I forgot to write in the Dog and have no clue how to incorporate him into the story. Foolish am I.   
Please do forgive any errors and be sure to point them out in the comments. I love that. That was not sarcasm, by the way.

Ana

Ana was unusually silent and she was beyond well aware of it, as was everyone else. She caught Sebille’s worried glances, noted how Duncan’s hand had lingered at her shoulder. Even the mysterious taciturn mage Syn was aware of it, for she sat closer to her and would occasionally glance up from her clasped hands to make awkward eye contact with her. 

It was difficult enough to acknowledge the pain that throbbed listlessly and incessantly in her chest. It was unbearable to have everyone bear witness to it. 

When they had arrived at Ostagar, she was not expecting to be met with a royal greeting. Although she hardly knew the man on any personal level, King Cailan knew her well enough to recognize her. Recognize that she was the daughter of Bryce Cousland. Naturally, he prodded her about her family, asked after their well-being, and commenting on how she took after her mother, Eleanor. After weeks of silence on the matter, perhaps it was time to confront what happened in Highever, yes? But not like this. She managed to muster up something resembling her voice and informed the young king of her family’s demise. Beyond that, she could not recall anything, for that was the first time she had heard it outloud that Mother and Father were gone and that  _ gutted  _ her. 

After that, everyone had enough sense to leave it alone. Duncan and company granted her the silence she needed. But that time was coming to an end. At Sebille’s request, all duties were put aside to feed their hunger and so, they all ate. Duncan made no commands. Just let them be. Now lunch was over with and Duncan was standing before the three of them.

“Now that your appetites are sated, we must begin your Joining and quickly, for the horde draws nearer with every passing breath.” he said, the look in his eyes blazing with serious intent.

“How far off are they?” Sebille asked.

“About a day or two’s march, by some counts.” Duncan replied.

While she knew, as a Grey Warden, it was a duty to fight the darkspawn, Ana had not yet settled into this idea of her new role.  _ I bet most recruits don’t even see a darkspawn for months after they become a Grey Warden. We’re expected to fight them in two days,  _ she thought. What did a darkspawn even look like? What did they sound like? She shivered.

“That is why it is of the utmost importance that we complete your Joining tonight.” he continued.

“What is this Joining you speak of? What do we partake in?” Syn interjected. Her voice was an unfamiliar one, despite having used it before in Ana’s presence. 

Duncan sighed and rubbed his forehead forehead with a gloved hand. “The Joining is a ritual conducted in secret. I am unable to tell you more than that it is what makes a Grey Warden. I am sorry.” The regret in his voice was evident.

Sebille chuckled nervously. “Wonderful. What have I gotten myself into?” she mumbled.

“I am sorry,” he continued, “But such is the way.”

_ Such is the way,  _ Ana thought bitterly,  _ Many things have such ways.  _

“Acquaint yourself with the camp. After that, meet with a young man named Alistair. He will be responsible for preparing you for the Joining.” 

Duncan bid the trio farewell and left them to their devices. For a brief, awkward moment, they all sat there. Ana could not tell if it was uncertainty that hindered them or fear. But someone needed to do  _ something. _

Standing, Ana offered Sebille her hand. “Shall we?” she asked, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

___

At first, Ana was quite unsure of what to do with herself. The camp was full to bursting with people who had purpose. The thought of disrupting that purpose, whatever it may be, did not sit well. So for a time, she simply wandered. 

Until she came upon the King’s richly colored tent. The Cousland’s had had money, most certainly, but Mother and Father rarely indulged in such flamboyant displays as the King’s tent. The dyes alone must’ve cost the same as a small country.

But she was not here to gawk over a tent. Like everyone else, she had a purpose.

“I need to speak with the King.” she informed a guard standing watch at the entrance.

The young man barely looked old enough to be off the breast. She had no place to speak on age. This past winter marked her eighteenth one and she most definitely looked the part. But surely she did not look  _ that  _ young. Did she?

Clearing his throat, the guard responded. “That is ill-advised. The King is currently in a meeting with Teryn Loghain. The two always part in fouler moods than they began with.” he said.

Ana was not satisfied. “I assure you, this is important. I  _ need  _ to speak with him.” she insisted.

“About?”

She was not too keen on expelling her greatest sorrow and heartbreak with such a complete, mindless, low-rank individual. Her brow furrowed in disapproval. 

“That is the King’s business, not yours.” she informed him.

The young lad sighed in resignation. “As you wish.” he mumbled, turning his back and entering through the tent flap. In that brief moment, she caught the slightest glimpse of the interior of the tent. As far as she could tell, the tent’s only occupants were the King and the Teryn. The air that seethed out of there was most unpleasant. Filled with animosity and heat.

She could hear faint voices from within the tent and moments later, the King had emerged. His gold armor glittered in the light of the day. King Cailan smiled at her warmly.

“Ah, Ana!” he spoke, approaching her, “I am told you have important business with me?”

Ana tried her best to return his smile, but her attempt was poor. 

“Yes, Your Majesty. Very important.” she said. Her voice sounded small. How she loathed the impression she was making on her King. Nearly coming apart at their first meeting and now hardly able to speak.

But the King gave no hint of any low opinion of her. In fact, he seemed quite warm. 

“Please,” he said, guiding her to a spot away from the tent. “There is no need for such formalities. We’ll share a battlefield soon enough. I’ve always said that a battlefield and her occupants have no use for a King’s title. Call me Cailan.”

“Cailan...it’s about my family. Highever.” she said, hesitating slightly at the use of his name. Oh, how wrong it felt to address the highest power in all the land by his first name.

At the mention of her family, Cailan’s smile dissipated and found itself replaced with a deep frown. 

“About that, I am most sorry, dear Ana. I had no idea that they had...perished. I am sorry that I had brought it up…” he said, the sorrow dripping from his voice.

Besides the sorrow, Ana could detect something else in his voice. It might have been curiosity. She could not blame him for wondering.

“It is most unfortunate. But I’m not here to ponder that. No, I’m here to place blame.” she said. Her voice was firmining up.

Cailan made a motion that urged her to continue.

“At the stroke of midnight, I awoke to screams and the sounds of a fight. Highever was under attack. At first, I hadn’t the slightest idea as to who would attack Highever so boldly and so nastily. But it soon became obvious who the assailant was.”

“And?”

“Arl Rendon Howe, Your Grace.”

The King took a most notable surprised pause. His eyes frantically searched the ground, as if the dirt and patches of weeds somehow held the answer to his burning questions. 

“ _ Howe? _ ” he whispered. “Are you sure of this?”

Ana nodded. “Yes. I’m sure of it. The men attacking bore his family sigil. I saw Howe gut a maid I’d had since childhood. Duncan and the other Grey Wardens saved my life that night. Ask him to confirm.”

The King still seemed to be in a state of shock. Behind his blue eyes, Ana could see him try in desperation to piece together the fragments of this mess. After a moment, his eyes met hers. His mouth was set with determination. He set his gloved hands on her dainty shoulders.

“You have my word, Ana Cousland, that Rendon Howe will not get away with this. Justice will be served. Meet with me after the battle and we will discuss this at length.”

She nodded. His words meant a great deal to her. King Cailan was known for acting now, thinking later. Ana fully trusted that that bastard Howe would receive his punishment and swiftly at that. Part of her hoped that Cailan would allow her the honor of dispensing this justice. 

“Thank you, Cailan.” 

“What is this?”

The voice came from the opened flap of the King’s tent. It was Loghain, no doubt growing annoyed with the recess Cailan had called.

“I swear it,” Cailan continued, then quickly turned his attention to Teryn Loghain. “I’m coming. We were discussing an important matter.”

Loghain scoffed and reentered the tent.

“I will discuss this with Loghain and we will decide on a course of action. Have faith, young Ana. Howe will pay for this.”

_ Howe will. No matter if the King grants it or I do. _

___

The King’s words promised much but did little to erase the pain in her chest. It had been a long time since she’d felt this way - small and helpless. She hated it. In truth, no one adored feeling weak, but Ana felt a special kind of distaste for it. Ever since she was a young girl, she’d been fighting her way through to mastering whatever situation she was in. Fergus, her brother, would sit there and lightly jest that it was due to her being so wonderfully spoiled. But Fergus knew only the half of it. Mother, although she treasured her sweet Ana, never made it easy for her. Neither did father. Mother’s attention to detail and desire for perfection teetered on the edge of vastly cruel and father...when he agreed to begin training her in the way of the sword, never hinted at being as vicious as he was. In the beginning, when he conditioned his young Ana and tested her limits, he was gentle and understanding. When she grasped the basics, he was relentless and unforgiving in ways she doubted he was with Fergus. 

_ “To raise a daughter is a beautiful, yet delicate thing,”  _ mother had once told her.  _ “You are no flower to be picked and sniffed. You are a roaring inferno. You burn brilliantly. It is in flames that Andraste was purified. It is in flames you set the world.” _

Mother did not raise a daughter to be small and helpless.

_ No,  _ she thought,  _ Mother is dead but I still have everything she taught me. _

Eleanor Cousland taught her daughter to be strong, courageous, kind, and most of all, robust. Things change. Such is the way of the world. But Ana was not about to let change stop her from getting what she wanted.

She realized she was  _ not  _ small and helpless. Tonight, she would become a Grey Warden. Tomorrow, or the day after, she would fight valiantly against the darkspawn horde with her newfound brothers and sisters. Soon enough, Howe would drown in a pool of his own blood.

___

While lost in her thoughts, she was not aware of where her body had taken her. When she emerged from her thoughts, she found herself positioned at the bottom of stone stairs, her legs unconsciously guiding her up the stone to emerge onto a clearing. It was here she spotted two figures, one trying arduously not to spring himself into a fit of rage, and the other trying terribly not to laugh.

“I simply came to deliver a message from the revered mother, ser mage. She desires your presence.” the one trying not to laugh said.

The other, a mage, for his robes gave him away, crossed his arms defensively. 

“What her reverence “desires” is of no concern to me! I am busy helping the Grey Wardens - by the king’s orders, I might add!” he shouted.

“Should I have asked her to write a note?”

The mage scoffed. Threw his hands down at his side in disgust at his treatment. 

“Tell her I will  _ not  _ be harassed in this manner!” he shouted.

His companion, another man, feigned laughter. “Ah, yes,” he said, “I was harassing  _ you  _ by delivering a message. How very awful of me.”

“Your glibness does you no credit…”

“And here I thought we were getting along so well. I was going to name one of my children after you - the grumpy one!”

With that, the mage had had enough. He threw his hands up, clearly frazzled and maybe a touch embarrassed. Ana was a bit in shock. She’d seen such disputes before, but had never felt so awkward in her life. The mage stormed past her. He muttered a disgruntled, “Excuse me,” as he passed.

The other man was clearly just as exasperated as the mage.

“You know, the good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.” he said, strolling up to her.

She chuckled. “I’ve noticed. It seems that everyone has decided that the opportune time to lash out at one another is in a time of war.” she said.

The man cocked his head to the side, the look in his eyes inquisitive. “War? You think we’re in war?” he questioned.

Ana blushed. “Well...Duncan said the king...he said the threat was much larger than anticipated.” 

Recognition lit up in his eyes. “Oh! You’re the Grey Warden recruit! I’m sorry, I should’ve known. Duncan sent word that he was bringing three new recruits. Though I must admit, I’m not sure on the names yet. I’m Alistair.” he said, extending his hand.

She took it, gave it a firm shake. “No worries. I am Ana.” she said, smiling, “What was that little tiff about? With the mage.”

Alistair ran his gloved hand through his hair. “Ah. You saw that?” he said. “It was truly nothing more than me delivering a message. Ser mage got his lavish knickers in a right twist, didn’t he?”

Ana nodded. “Agreed. Some people thrive off of getting their knickers in a twist.” She leaned in close to him and whispered, “I think they get a thrill from it.”

He laughed. The sound was sweet. Not exactly music to her ears but it was a welcome reprieve from the darkness in her heart currently. “Oh, of course! There’s the knicker-twisters and the knicker-twisted. Both enjoy the twisting, just one likes doing it and the other likes receiving it.”

Ana smirked. “Which are you?” she asked.

Alistair shrugged. “Neither.” he admitted.

“You just like to rile up some poor mage for no reason then.”

“It was an accident! Honest.”

She had a hard time believing that. But she did not truly know him, so who was she to be a judge of what he did and did not intend to do? 

“Anyways, I’m sure you’re here for reasons other than to witness my horrible courier skills. Let’s go find the others, shall we?” 

___

Her and Alistair managed to wrangle up the recruits scattered all over the large military encampment. Ana aided in identifying the two other recruits she came with but when Alistair mentioned they were looking for two more, she was rendered useless. Their names were Ser Jory and Daveth. From their momentary interaction, Ana sustained the distinct impression that Ser Jory was all bark and no bite. He talked himself up like no one she’d met before or was likely ever to meet but she had seen little in the way of him proving himself. And Daveth, the rogue with itchy fingers...she had no impression of him besides the one his lingering glances at her chest gave off. 

When everyone was gathered, she assessed all the recruits as a whole. A tainted Dalish elf who practically drooled at the sight of their superior, a mysterious tight-lipped mage, a talkative and proud knight of Highever, a rogue who was foolish enough to try and pick the pocket of an esteemed Grey Warden commander, and a girl still reeling from witnessing the slaughter of her family and entire life. The Grey Wardens certainly did not discriminate as to who they took into their ranks. It was in her humble opinion that this group was most interesting, if not a little fucked. 

It was up to Alistair to handle this mess of a group. If he was up to the task. Ana had the sneaking suspicion that Alistair was just as clueless as the rest of them were, for he had difficulties silencing the group he had amassed and stumbled over his words when trying to gain their attention.

“Please, everyone! I know you have questions and I will try to answer them as best I can. But keep in mind, I must maintain the integrity of the Joining and thus, cannot give you much detail as to the ritual.” Alistair informed everyone.

That displeased the group. 

“And why is that? Why is everything so secretive?” Daveth demanded, crossing his arms before his narrow chest. Ser Jory agreed.

Alistair sighed. “You’ll find out soon enough.” he muttered. The three women of the group eyed one another cautiously. None of them liked this. 

Ana pushed her way to Alistair’s side. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked him, her voice low so as not to embarrass him. Her efforts potentially failed, as he blushed and his lips contorted into a frown.

“I have  _ some  _ semblance of an idea, thank you. Forgive me if I’m almost as new to this as you are.” he sneered. Ana felt regret. It was unwise to question authority, however newfound that authority was to that authority. Besides, it was not in her nature to revel in the discomfort and embarrassment of others. She bowed her head in apology.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to doubt you…” 

“It’s fine. You’re nervous. Know that I was as equally nervous and in the dark about the Joining when it was my time.” he assured her.

Alistair returned to the task of guiding the group. “The Joining involves little but some preparation is required. Each of you will need to collect a vial of Darkspawn blood for the ritual.” he said.

The light in Syn’s eyes lit up. “I  _ knew  _ there was some type of blood magic involved. There would  _ have  _ to be.” she expelled and Alistair was quick to halt that line of thinking.

“Woah there. There is  _ no  _ blood magic involved in the Joining. The Joining is not prohibited.” he said.

Syn pressed the issue further. “Blood magic is prohibited under Chantry law. The Grey Wardens are not under the regime of the Chantry, or did that change while I wasn’t looking? The Grey Wardens are their own separate entity that exist separately from any established ruling body. You say the practice of this ritual is secret, that this ritual requires the blood of tainted creatures, and that it is  _ not  _ blood magic. What, pray tell, exactly do you think constitutes blood magic?” 

Alistair, as well as everyone else present, was stunned into silence. No one expected the quiet mage to challenge their superior in such a bold way, nor did anyone expect her to say  _ anything  _ at all. In the weeks that they had spent traveling together, Ana could not recall a time when Syn said anything other than a handful of words. 

When Alistair was able to find the words to speak, he did so as if in a fog. “Uh...well, first off, mind control is a key element of blood magic, yes? And let’s see...pacts with demons. That’s a big one. There is a notable lack of both in being a Grey Warden.” he said confidently. 

“We shall see if that stands to be true…” Syn said, the distrust oozing from her words.

“Collect vials of darkspawn blood? Isn’t that dangerous?” Ser Jory added.

Sebille rolled her eyes. “What do you think fighting darkspawn is? All sweet rolls and rainbows?” she spat.

Ana chuckled. Ser Jory frowned. Alistair interjected to spare everyone there the pleasure of witnessing a spat. Another spat, in Ana’s case.

“We’ll venture out into the Wilds. There’s a few stragglers here and there, according to scouts.” 

The prospect evidently horrified Ser Jory. His eyes widened to the size of fists, the color drained from his face, his hands reflexively curled up into tight balls. 

“What?” he said, “The Wilds?”

Daveth clapped him on the back. “Oh, posh. It’s alright there, friend. Glory will be ours soon enough. Unless... you’re scared?” he teased, his smile growing and deepening to reveal his wicked nature. 

“I’m not scared, but this is reckless!” Ser Jory countered.

All of the sudden, Duncan was there, at Ser Jory’s side. “Calm yourself. This task is required. You would not be here if there was any doubt in your abilities to fend for yourself. Just keep your wits about you.” he said. His voice commanded everyone’s respect. It was enough to silence Ser Jory, if only for a moment.

“If all else fails, you have me.” Alistair admitted.

“Oh?” Ana questioned, “And?”

“Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn. We have...a connection. We can sense them, they can sense us. So long as we’re careful, we’re in no danger of running into the bulk of the horde.” he said.

“And you said there was no blood magic.” Syn muttered.

Alistair ignored her little quip. 

With everyone somewhat placated, their push towards the Wilds began. Poultices were gathered, buckles were fastened, blades were honed, arrows were checked. 

The guard at the gate leading to the Wilds hesitantly released the party from the Camp. A part of Ana felt as if they were walking into their doom. Another, stronger, more vibrant part, insisted this was but the beginning. All the while, she felt Duncan’s eyes boring into their backs. It felt as if he did not expect many of them to return. 


	3. Witch of the Wilds

Syn

It was odd to walk so freely. The task bearing down on her was a heavy one, collect vials of darkspawn blood for a secret ritual capable to turning her into a Grey Warden, but Syn felt light and unbothered. Her last memories of being able to go anywhere she wanted to, without a guarded escort, were of years past. Back when she was...she couldn’t even place an age. She was little, that was all she remembered. And, of course…

_ No,  _ she thought, lightly shaking her head to erase that line of thought,  _ not again. Not here. _

Frankly, she could go  _ anywhere.  _ Abandon her group and roam the woods until the end of her life. That was ill-advised, obviously. The darkspawn threat was quite eminent and from how Duncan spoke, large. Feasibly, this was the beginning of a Blight. 

If that were true, she still would not regret her decision to leave the Circle. Well…”decision”. She truly had no choice, in that the right choice was so blatantly obvious that she didn’t need to make it. What had Duncan said? “Caught between a rock and a hard place”? That was true in her case, although becoming a Grey Warden and being exiled to Aeonar was  _ not  _ exactly being stuck between a rock and a hard place. She would choose the Grey Wardens any day, no matter the sacrifice, which seemed to be considerable. 

The Circle was her gilded cage and she was relieved to be free of it. The Korcari Wilds revealed to her the extent of that relief. In a way, everything felt new. Rationally, she  _ knew  _ that old gnarled trees existed, that grass was soft and abundant, that the sun was warm and inviting, but she’d never experienced them in any great capacity. Not one where she had a true, genuine understanding of nature’s attributes. Ever since her internment at the Circle, she could only recall a handful of times she’d been permitted to leave. 

Her attention was drawn to a small flower growing from a bundle of logs. She, lagging behind the group, knelt to examine it. Its petals were white and slender, with the portion circling the center a deep red. This red seeped out and up into the veins of the flower. 

“Have you ever seen it before?”

Syn looked up from the flower, her eyes scanning the full length of the girl before her. It was Ana, naturally. The chatty, yet friendly girl from Highever, who watched her family die before her eyes.  _ Poor girl,  _ she thought. A step or two behind her was the she-elf, Sebille. 

She returned her focus to the flower, drew the stew between her fingers and pulled up. “ _ Trillium undulatum.”  _ she said, standing. She examined the flower further, twisting it between her fingers to inspect it from all angles. “I’ve read about them. Seen them in various texts. But I’ve never seen one in person, no.”

Ana smiled. “They were all over the woods surrounding Highever. Mother and I used to pick them, when I was a girl.” she said.

Syn retained her silence a moment longer. “You still are a girl.” she finally said. She handed the flower over to Ana. Sebille eyed her carefully. Syn got the impression that Sebille was beginning to take on the role of protecting young Ana.

She brushed passed the two before Ana or Sebille could respond and returned to the task at hand.

“Where to, Warden Alistair?” Daveth asked.

Everyone looked to Alistair. He looked a touch flustered.

“Well, you can start by simply calling me Alistair.” he said. His eyes scanned their surroundings. “Next, we can find some darkspawn. Like I said earlier, Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn. Alternatively, they can sense us, so we can’t take them by surprise but neither can they. I can feel a small group nearby. Not too far in…”

And so they set off, all following behind Alistair like ducklings. 

Syn had a few questions for him. “I’m curious. How does this...connection to the darkspawn work?” she asked, pushing through Daveth and Ser Jory’s bulk to reach Alistair’s side. 

He did not look at her as he spoke. “Well, I’m not quite sure what else there is to say. Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn. End of story.” he said, shrugging.

She sighed. “Yes, but what does it  _ feel  _ like?  _ Why  _ is there a connection? I know it’s to do with this blood we’re collecting, but I can’t decipher the capacity to which the blood pertains. Do we consume it?” she pestered.

Ser Jory’s features practically erupted with terror and disgust. “I certainly hope not.” he said.

“What does it matter, mage? We’ll be Grey Wardens!” Daveth added.

Syn shot him a nasty glare. “I have a name and I suggest you use it.” she spat, “It matters a great deal. Perhaps you’re too simple to care about what you’ve gotten yourself into, but I’m not.”

“From what I’ve heard, you’ve gotten yourself into quite the mess, itn’t that right,  _ mage?”  _ Daveth sneered.

Her blood boiled. She felt the electricity sparking at her fingertips. But intervention came from a most unexpected place. Sebille.

“Ah, yes! Most wise to quarrel with a powerful mage. Please, do continue, Daveth! See if you make it to become a Grey Warden. Besides, from what  _ I  _ hear, you weren’t too bright to know not to pick the pocket of the Grey Warden commander of all of Ferelden.” she said, examining her fingernails. Syn nodded a ‘thank-you’ her way. 

Sebille winked.

Daveth clenched his fists at his side.

Alistair decided then was the time to intervene. “Hey, now. Simmer down. Soon enough, you’ll all be brothers and sisters in arms. Leave the fighting to the darkspawn.” he said and the situation was somewhat diffused. “But back to your question, I can’t really describe what the connection to the darkspawn feels like. It’s just...there. Not an exact location but a vague idea of where they are.”

His answer was disappointing, but she conceded. Soon enough, she would know and understand. 

-+-

They wandered for a bit, Alistair dutifully and expertly guiding them to where they needed to be. After about a half-hour, they arrived at a darkspawn...encampment? No. Upon closer inspection, Syn realized that it was, in fact, a scout camp overcome by darkspawn. The twisted, lifeless bodies of the scouts lay wasted all over the campsite. She frowned.

The group hid in a patch of nearby bushes, their movements quiet and calculated. Alistair assessed the situation. 

“It seems to me that there’s only about five darkspawn patrolling the camp. One for each of you. Don’t be foolish. No heroics, you hear me?” he whispered.

They all nodded. 

“Good. They know we’re near.” he continued.

“Well, know  _ you’re  _ here,” Ana whispered, “We’re not Grey Wardens. Presumably, they cannot sense us.”

Alistair nodded. “Correct. So maybe you will have an advantage.”

With that, they charged. 

Sebille and herself lagged behind, for their talents were better suited to ranged attacks. From this position, Syn could better apply her use of spells and Sebille could provide additional support. 

The elf at her side knocked and released her arrows at a frightening speed, one Syn concluded was unmatched. Her speed was admirable, but it was her precision that amazed Syn. She could not be certain of her companion’s precise and intended targets, but each arrow seemed to land perfectly on the mark. When Syn noted that a stout darkspawn was running towards Sebille, blade raised high above its head and its mouth contorted to release a horrible screech, Syn performed the spell and formulation for winter’s grasp in her head. Seconds later, the creature was encased thick sheets of ice that molded perfectly to its body. She whirled her staff around her head, feeling its power course just beneath the smooth surface of red steel, and smashed the creature into a thousand pieces. The staff seemed to hum in her hand.

Sebille threw a thankful glance her way and returned her attention to a darkspawn sitting atop and beating upon Ser Jory’s breastplate with its ugly fists. He grunted and groaned, trying his best to pry the screaming creature from him. Sebille shot the creature full of arrows, but it was relentless. Never had Syn seen such endurance in...anything. Her thoughts raced as she sifted through every spell and glyph ingrained into her memory, deducing which spells would at least halt this creature at a speed that rivaled Sebille’s firing of arrows. 

She decided on casting disorient, hoping it would grant Ser Jory enough time to throw the creature from himself. This particular spell required the use of her staff to cast. She waved it in the configuration required to activate the spell and hurled the energy right at the unsuspecting darkspawn. It toppled over of its volition, allowing for Ser Jory to slowly pull himself up and run his blade right through the face of the creature. 

Before she could attend to the other members of the fight, she cast a quick but weak healing spell on Ser Jory. She hoped it would be enough to sustain him throughout the rest of the fight; she could feel the fatigue of the constant spellcasting weighing down upon her like bricks. A dull thud resonated in her temples and deep within her chest, she could feel her mana reserves diminishing. 

_ I’ll have to rely on my staff, unfortunately,  _ she thought, frowning. Her staff was an extension of her power but the staves issued to the mages of the Circle were largely for show. Circle staves were relatively weak.

She assessed the situation carefully. Three of the five darkspawn had fallen and the two that remained seemed to be giving the group a fair bit of trouble. Ana made very little offensive effort with the darkspawn she fought, instead choosing to parry every blow the large creature made. Her movements were fluid and graceful but ultimately ineffective at ending the fight. Syn had no doubt that her little dance with the darkspawn could last hours. 

Syn hurled an orb of magic at the darkspawn with her staff. It only angered the creature, drew its attention away from Ana and to herself. Cursing, she steadied and prepared herself to summon her last bit of energy to deal with the creature. When it was about ten paces away, Alistair came up behind the creature and ran it through with his sword. Blood spurted from the hole in its chest, the thick, inky black substance falling to the ground and managing to splatter on the bottom hem of her robes. 

Alistair turned to face a frozen Ana. She did not hear what he said but it must have angered Ana, for her face contorted and she stormed off to assault the final darkspawn. She sliced through its achilles, forcing the creature to its knees. There, Ana ran her blade through its neck. The creature gurgled and its mouth frothed. 

All the foes were slain. There was a momentary pause to allow everyone to catch their breath.

Sebilled plucked her arrows from the flaccid corpses of the darkspawn, grimacing when she inspected them and found them to be covered in that thick black liquid. Presumably, that was the darkspawn’s tainted blood. Ana cleaned her blade. Ser Jory sat on a rock with his head in his hands, reciting the Chant of Light. Daveth was...well, she wasn’t quite sure. He seemed to be staring into the sun but he was muttering something to himself.

“I suppose I should take this moment to educate you all on darkspawn types.” Alistair said, strolling up beside one of the small, squatter creatures. He kicked its lifeless body. “This disgusting creature is a genlock. They’re the most numerous and most nasty of the bunch. More likely to slice up your ankles and slit your throat.”

Syn walked over to the creature and knelt at its side. Its eyes, despite being glazed over with death, were evil and dark. Its many sharp teeth were on show, the lips either entirely absent or mysteriously thin, in a gruesome almost smile. From everything she could see, genlocks were proportionate, like dwarves. 

Alistair moved over to one of the larger creatures and kicked this one too. “This is a hurlock. Appears to be an alpha.” he said. “Alphas lead a darkspawn tribe. They’re not the most powerful but they are fairly high up on the hierarchy.”

This darkspawn differed only slightly from the genlock. It was taller and its skin looked almost as if it had been melted and cooled together with different skin.

“They’re evil.” Ser Jory muttered. Clearly, he had not recovered from his incident.

Syn wondered why he was even here. From their interactions, Jory seemed too much of a fool and a coward to ever even be considered to join the ranks of a Grey Warden. 

Alistair nodded. “They most certainly are. That is why we exist. To stop them from infecting the world with their taint. The taint seeps into everything. Lands inhabited for extended periods of time by darkspawn are rendered toxic and barren.” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

After all her arrows were collected and cleaned, Sebille knelt beside one of the corpses, produced a blade from the sheath on her thigh, and began to carve up the creature. Ser Jory gasped in horror. “What are you  _ doing? _ ” he shouted.

Sebille turned towards him. “What does it look like?” she asked.

“She’s collecting blood,” Syn elaborated. She presented the elf with a handful of vials from deep within her robes. “That is why we are here.”

“Unless you’ve forgotten,” Ana added.

Ser Jory had nothing to say.

Sebille continued to drain the corpse of blood, her efforts producing four vials of the black fluid. “I believe Daveth can make his own,” she mused, a slight smile on her lips.

Alistair tried to hide his chuckle. Daveth did not find it funny. But he did not complain, just simply snatched a vial up and used one of his daggers to slice open an artery.

While he collected his vial, Sebille spoke to Syn. “You saved my life. Thank you.” she said softly.

Syn shrugged. “I did. You’re welcome.”

Ana overheard them and joined in. “You saved mine as well,” she said, admiration twinkling in her youthful pale eyes.

“You could’ve saved yourself,” Syn said, “Why didn’t you?”

Ana looked down. Dug into the earth with the toe of her boot. “I’ve...never actually fought a darkspawn before.” she admitted.

Syn quirked a brow and Sebille laughed. “Oh? And you think we have?” the elf quipped.

“There weren’t too terribly many darkspawn in the tower.” Syn said.

Ana sighed. “No. Killing is new to me. I panicked.” she said, frowning.

That Syn could understand. Only the wicked grew used to killing. Even if it was a heartless, evil creature being killed. But Syn was no longer unaccustomed to killing.

“Alrighty then!” Alistair shouted, clapping his hands together. “On to the next task.”

“Next? What else is there to do?” Daveth asked.

“This has nothing to do with your Joining, I assure you. This is Grey Warden business. Duncan asked me to retrieve some treaties from an old Grey Warden outpost in the Wilds.” Alistair replied.

“How are you certain the treaties still remain?” Ser Jory said.

Alistair sighed. “Yes, the outpost was abandoned ages ago, but the treaties should still remain. They’re locked in a chest-”

“Protected by magic, no doubt.” Syn interrupted. “Old, powerful magic if you suspect it hasn’t faded after all this time.”

Alistair stared at her for a moment. She felt like an ant caught under a magnifying glass. 

“Yeeeess,” he said, “Um...they should still be there.”

“How far in is this old outpost?” Sebilled asked.

Again, Alistair sighed. The man sighed enough for all of them. “If I remember correctly, pretty far in. So let’s get going.”

And off they were again.

-+-

The further they ventured into the Korcari Wilds, the more frequent darkspawn encounters were. There were several times the group was successfully able to sneak past a bundle and avoid conflict. Others, they were not so lucky. By the time the old outpost was reached, the party was beyond utterly exhausted. Syn felt as if her body had been emptied and her being was held up entirely by bones. There was nothing left in her and if she pushed, she doubted she could make it back to the King’s camp alive. 

“This is it.” Alistair informed everyone, pointing to a crumbling tower just past the line of trees.

There was a collective sigh of relief.

Thankfully, there were no more nasty encounters to spring upon them. The ruins were empty. Relatively so. All that remained were piles of debris littering the floor. 

Syn centered herself, focused on detecting any type of residual magical energy. She felt nothing.

“There is nothing here.” she informed Alistair.

He brow furrowed. “What do you mean? The treaties are here.” He did not understand.

“The magic protecting the treaties you spoke of,” she began, shaking her head, “it isn’t here. There’s...nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

Syn kept her composure. She’d spent twenty-five years of her life not only taming her magic but herself. It often paid off, such as in this situation. There was once a time when she would have set him aflame for his stupidity. Not now. 

“The magic is gone. It has worn off. Let us hope your treaties remain.” she said.

A look of dread set upon Alistair’s face. The color drained from it, just like when Ser Jory experienced anything mildly intimidating. Alistair searched the ruins frantically until he came upon a broken chest sitting in the middle of a clearing.

“No!” he shouted, running his hands through his hair, “Maker damn it.”

Silence fell over the group as Alistair contemplated what to do next, where to search. But the silence did not last long. 

“Are you a vulture, I wonder?” came a strange voice.

It startled everyone. They all turned to the direction the voice came from.

There, standing above them on a fractured staircase, stood a woman. Her hair was the color of a raven, her eyes the color of gold and almost seeming to...glow. Interesting. What was even more interesting was her outfit. Beautiful but assuredly lacking. It left little to the imagination. But Syn was not concerned with how revealing her garb was. What caught her attention was the ornate collar encasing her neck. It was likely to serve the function of a necklace, but its size implied otherwise. Her eyes were drawn to it.

“A scavenger, perhaps, poking amidst the remains of a corpse whose bones had long since been picked clean? Or merely an intruder who came into these darkspawn filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?” she continued, descending the broken steps. She did not peer down to check her footing once.

She approached the group. No one uttered a word. Syn felt the tension rising in everyone, her own fingers aching to grasp her staff. Clearly, the silence was not a suitable answer for this woman.

“What say you? Scavenger or intruder?” the woman asked, irritation in her voice.

“Neither,” Alistair spoke up, “This tower used to belong to the Grey Wardens.”

“Once but no longer,” Syn said and the woman scoffed.

“She is right. This tower is no longer in the possession of the honorable Grey Wardens. Presumably, you came here seeking something. That makes you a scavenger.” the woman said.

“If you adhere strictly to the definition of a ‘scavenger,’ then yes, we are. But no one thinks in such black and white ways. We were sent here by a Grey Warden to retrieve some treaties. Treaties that are no longer here.” Syn said.

The woman smirked. Crossed her arms across her considerable bust. “Yes. The magic protecting your treaties wore off some time ago. ‘Tis miraculous mother kept them this long.” she said.

“Don’t talk to her!” shouted Daveth, “She’s a Witch of the Wilds.n She’ll turn us into toads!”

Syn had heard stories of the wicked Witch of the Wilds. Mothers would tell their naughty children of the Witch who roamed the Wilds, searching for a child to snatch up and boil alive. While the legends only spoke of a singular witch, she suspected there were more. The tales had endured for centuries. No mere mortal could extend their life to such unnatural degrees. 

Alistair’s eyes widened. “Could it be?” he whispered.

The ‘witch’ rolled her golden eyes. “Please, let us converse as  _ adults,  _ yes? ‘Tis but a waste of time to tremble and cower from such titles as those. You forget what those tales are - just tales. Grow up. Men are quick to fear. Women…” she said, eyeing Syn and the other two women present, “I find, possess more reason. So, what say you? Do you find me to be so terrible as to not converse with?”

“No.” Syn said.

The woman smiled nastily. “Wonderful. Well, my name is Morrigan. I am a mage, yes, but you’ll find I am no horrible, beastly Witch of the Wilds.” she said.

Everyone eyed her skeptically. Surprisingly, Ser Jory kept quiet.

“Where are these treaties?” Syn asked.

“My mother has them.”

“Is that some sort of joke?” Alistair asked.

“If so, it seems more truthful rather than the funny sort.” she replied.

Alistair frowned. “Great,” he said, “She’s a thieving, weird, talking...funny sort of witch.”

The witch rolled her eyes. “Not all things in the Wilds take on the form of monsters. Flowers grow here, as do toads.” she said.

“Are we to sit here and wait for the mother dearest to grace with her presence?” Sebille called.

“I could take you to her if you like.” the woman said, shrugging, “‘Tis no trouble for me. Afterall, I do live there.”

Syn did not like this. “You expect us to follow you when we know not your name? Nor your mother’s?” she said.

The woman’s eyes appeared to gleam as they locked onto her. “Most sensible of you to ask. I was beginning to think you all were simple” she said, “My name is Morrigan. And you are?”

“Synathra. Syn for short.”

Morrigan smiled at her but it was laced with something nasty. “Well, Synathra, lovely to make your acquaintance. The others are?”

Slowly, the women of the group introduced themselves, as did Alistair, hesitantly, but neither Daveth nor Ser Jory spoke a word. Morrigan seemed fine with that.

“Shall we be off?” Morrigan asked.

Alistair pulled the group aside. “We  _ need  _ those treaties. But I don’t like this ‘Morrigan appearing out of nowhere.’ It seems too coincidental.”

Ana nodded. “Agreed but we can’t get those treaties back without Morrigan’s help. What’s even in the treaties, anyways?” she said.

“They’re the documents where powers such as the crown, the dwarves of Orzammar, the Dalish, the Circle of Magi formally acknowledged the forces they promised to the Grey Wardens. Duncan suspects we need them.” he said.

“So...they’re crucially important,” Sebille mused. She placed her hands on her hips, something Syn observed to aid in her thinking.

Syn decided for them.

“ _ Are  _ you a Witch of the Wilds?” she asked. 

Morrigan sighed. “Some call us witches, yes, but purely out of superstition. Nothing more, nothing less. These fantastical tales are just that - tales.”

“You know what the Circle of Magi is, yes? The Circle requires an accounting of all mages. That is the law of the land of the Chantry.” Alistair said. 

“Well, you’ll be hard-pressed to find the Chantry all the way out here. If you wish to go ahead and tell your Chantry about me, go ahead. I do not fear men of the cloth.” Morrigan said.

“Templars are men of metal. With metal swords. Sharp too.” Ana said. “It is they who would come for you.”

“Are you threatening me, little girl?” 

Ana scowled. “No. Quite the opposite. Us women have to stick together. I was just informing you.”

Morrigan’s eyes held her response, though what that was was a mystery to Syn. 

“I say we go.” she decided, “But I defer judgment to Alistair. He is our senior.”

Alistair did not meet her eyes. He chewed at his left cheek for a moment. “Fine. Take us to your mother.” he finally said.

“She’ll boil us like toads!” Daveth exclaimed.

“If the pot’s warmer than this forest…” Ser Jory muttered.

No one paid them any mind. 

“Follow me, then. If it pleases you.” Morrigan said. 

-+-

Morrigan’s...home was quite eclectic. The place seemed to be comprised of rooms torn off from other buildings and jumbled together to create one solid standing piece. Syn found it fitting of a Witch of the Wilds.

Outside the hut was remarkably spry older woman, tending to the garden. Upon first glance,  _ she  _ did not fit the perception of a Witch of the Wilds. But when Morrigan called to her and the woman turned to meet the group, Syn did away with that perception. 

While her body was solid and capable, her face was wrinkled and shrunk. The area beneath her eyes was dark and bruised, her eyes were old. But beneath it all, there shyly peaked out the last remnants of beauty. 

“Mother, I bring before you six Grey Wardens-” Morrigan began.

“Oh, please. You bring me  _ a  _ Warden and five wouldbe recruits who will likely die before they draw their first breath as a Warden. I see them, girl.” the woman snapped.

Morrigan, for the first time since meeting her, showed signs of reservation. She simply bowed her head, as if ashamed. Syn got the impression Morrigan was usually confident and prideful. But not around her mother. How true that was of many mothers and their children.

“Mm. As I expected.” the woman said, her lips pursing 

“Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?” Alistair said, laughing as if he did not believe it.

Syn closed her eyes. The aura of great power surrounded this woman. A degree of power Syn had never before experienced. It made her skin prickle. Unlike her companions, Syn was beyond aware of this woman’s power.

“You are required to do nothing, boy, least of all believe. Shut one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide, either way, one’s a fool.” the woman said.

Daveth muttered something about her being a witch and Ser Jory reprimanded him.

“Believe what you will,” the woman said. 

She strolled over to the women of the group, all huddled together and watching intently. 

“What of you all? Does the woman’s mind you possess give you a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as these boys do?” she asked.

They all exchanged looks.

“I believe you’re powerful, yes.” Syn said, confidently.

“But legends are legends.” Ana said.

“We have no reason to believe you are as the legends say.” said Sebille.

Syn nodded. “You are a mage and you live in the Wilds. We are willing to grant you the benefit of the doubt.”

The woman’s lips took on something resembling a wicked smile. “So much about you girls is uncertain. But I believe. I believe in all of you.” she said.

Syn, the older she became, was slow to be moved to pride. But when the woman spoke of her belief in the three of them, she could not help but embrace the swell of it in her chest.

“So...this is the dreaded Witch of the Wilds?” Alistair said.

The woman laughed a big bellowing laugh. The sound alone could scare even the most fierce of warriors. “A Witch of the Wilds? Did Morrigan tell you that? She fancies such tales! Though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon!” she exclaimed. 

Morrigan rubbed her temples. “They did not come to listen to your wild musings, mother.” she said, voice strained.

The woman nodded. “This is true. They came for their treaties, yes?” she said, turning to enter the house. A moment later, she reappeared with a bundle of ancient looking scrolls. “Before you come barking, I have protected these from the tides of time.”

“You-” Alistair began, then quickly changed his direction of both words and tone, “You...protected them?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? You think I place my power so high as to be untouched by the Blight?” the old woman said, quirking a curious brow, “Take these to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight’s power is much more than they believed.”

She handed off the scrolls to Alistair, who took them carefully, as if he were afraid they were some type of facade conjured up by one or both of the mages. 

“Thank you for these,” Ana said.

The woman waved her off. “You have what you came for.” she said.

“Time for you to leave then,” Morrigan said, ushering the group to leave.

Her mother frowned. “Do not be ridiculous. These are your guests. Treat them as such.”

Morrigan sighed. “Very well. Follow me.”

While the rest of the group followed behind Morrigan, Syn lingered behind to speak with her mother.

“What did you mean when you said this Blight is more powerful than they could know?” she asked.

The woman smiled nastily. It looked like Morrigan’s smile. “Just that,” she said, “I find that men of power rarely understand the true might of their opponent. Of course, the Grey Wardens have knowledge of Blights, are founded upon fighting and stopping the Blight, but even they are blind to its true power. Women are much more sensitive to the severity of such things. Good thing they have you and those others, yes?”

Syn remained silent. 

“You’re an odd one, aren’t you? Murderous mages often are.” Morrigan’s mother said.

Her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes widened briefly then quickly narrowed. She opened her mouth to speak but the woman cut her off.

“Off with you. You’ll fall behind.” 

-+-

Morrigan reluctantly guided them back through the Wilds. The entire time, she remained silent, as if the task was a great strain on her nerves. In response, no one else spoke either. No one knew how to take this supposed Witch of the Wilds. She was certainly not what anyone expected. Syn rarely contemplated myths and legends, her time at the Circle being consumed by her studies and responsibilities as a mage, but she had imagined a feared Witch of the Wilds to be less...attractive. It was easy for her to admit just how attractive Morrigan was.

The journey back was long and awkward, to say the least. Finally, they arrived before the great wood gate marking the entrance to the camp and Syn found herself quietly sighing in relief. 

“This is as far as I go,” Morrigan said, crossing her arms defensively, “Unless you wish me to hold you hand and walk you into camp.”

Alistair sneered. “No, thank you. This is fine enough.” he said.

Another awkward silence settled. No one offered  _ anything.  _ Until sweet Ana, realizing that no one, especially the men, were going to thank their guide.

“We thank you, Morrigan.” she said, offering up a smile.

Morrigan nodded. “Yes.” was all she said.

“Be safe,” Syn added. Morrigan locked eyes with her. Perhaps the witch meant to intimidate her. Strike fear into her heart. But she failed. Syn could match the weight and severity of those gold eyes.

“Hm. Do not fret. I have lived here all my life. I know my way around the Wilds.” she said. And off she was.

The interior of the camp was a welcomed sight. Syn was used to hustle and bustle, used to living and operating in close quarters. Besides, it was nice to see faces that weren’t horribly warped and frothing at the mouth to sink their teeth into your flesh. 

The group located Duncan. None of them were too particularly excited to jump right into the Joining but they had no time, according to Alistair. 

“I see you have all returned,” Duncan said, giving them a warm smile. Syn caught the relief in his face when he laid eyes upon Sebille.

“Yes,” Alistair said, handing him the treaties, “It was...quite the adventure.”

Duncan examined the treaties. He inspected them one by one, sorting through the bundle to make sure everything was in order. When he was satisfied, he passed them off to one of his companions. “And the vials?” he asked.

Everyone produced their vials.

He nodded in approval. “Good. I’ll take those. Gather here at nightfall. Prepare yourselves for this. The Joining is many things, most of all unpleasant. We shall conduct the ritual in the dark of the night, away from prying eyes.”

“How fitting…” mumbled Sebille.

“Are we in any danger?” Ana asks timidly, “From the ritual?”

Duncan frowned. 

“Of course we are,” Syn said. Wasn’t it obvious? 

All eyes fell on her. She shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Duncan remained silent but she didn’t need his words to confirm her suspicion. It was written all over both his and Alistair’s faces.

“‘In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.’” Duncan said.

Whatever was meant by his words, Syn’s dedication to the Grey Wardens was cemented. She was not afraid of death. But his implications unsettled her. Deeply. 


End file.
